Traveler of the Frequented Prepare

The year was 1993. Inside the calm northern town of Lalmonirhat, Bangladesh—then untouched by modernity—nights fell into significant quiet. After nightfall, the town turned into a ghost of itself. It was in the midst of one such spooky night that something truly chilling happened, a story still whispered by the seniors with unease in their eyes.

Mr. Rafique was a senior railroad official. Known for his unwavering quality and cleaned ability, he once in a whereas missed a arrange. That night, due to an basic issue at work, he had to board a late-night traveler plan from Patgram to Lalmonirhat. The plan was arranged to require off at 1:

00 AM. It was an more prepared model—rusty, creaky, and around cleanse.

Rafique boarded the get ready and chose a window arrange in a dimly-lit compartment. The carriage was calm, with because it were the moo roll of the get ready and the coincidental glimmering of the overhead lights. Outside, the scene was swallowed by fog, shadows amplifying like claws over the tracks.

Minutes a short time later, a woman tactfully entered the compartment and sat clearly over from him. She wore a white sari, openly hung, and her long dim hair hung still as within the occasion that untouched by the breeze. Her confront was pale and clear. Her eyes, significant and purge, looked ahead—not exceptionally at him, not exceptionally truant.

Rafique publicized a respectful motion and a calm “Assalamu Alaikum.” The woman did not respond. She didn't squint. She didn't undoubtedly show up to breathe. A cold shiver passed down his spine, but he endeavored to neglect it. Maybe she was reasonable tired… or deploring.

As the plan crossed the blocked off Burimari station, the temperature insides the carriage dropped unexpectedly. The windows clouded up. A thick, unnatural chill settled over everything. It felt like time had ended. Rafique looked around—oddly, the get ready appeared up cleared out. The conductor, other passengers—gone.

All of a sudden, the woman over from him turned her see particularly toward him. Her voice was barely a whisper, but it resonated inside the calm.

“You humans… you keep irritating our places. We never invited you here.”

Rafique's throat settled. “I-I don't understand… What are you talking about?”

She smiled—a direct, dead twist of her lips, dejected of warmth.

“This train,” she said delicately, “derailed a long time earlier. I was on it. We never made it to Lalmonirhat.”

At that point it began—the sound of metal yelling, travelers groaning, flares crackling. The examine filled with the thick scent of burning steel and something faraway worse… charred substance. Rafique looked outside—flashes of fire, bowed bodies, shadows moving inside the mist.

He bounced to his feet. The woman was not there. The complete compartment was cleanse. The lights flashed brutally. Solidify rising, he endeavored to run, but the carriage showed up never-ending, amplifying into lack of definition on both closes.

At that point, with a sudden bump, everything stopped.

The get ready came to a halt at Lalmonirhat station. It was horrendously quiet—no sounds of strides, no announcements. Rafique staggered out, gasping for talk about, sweat pouring in show disdain toward of the cold.

He drawn closer the station master's office, unhinged for a couple of clarification.

“The 1:

00 AM plan from Patgram—when did it arrive?” he asked.

The station expert looked perplexed. “Sir… That plan doesn't run any longer. It was canceled after an setback. Don't you know?”

Rafique squinted. “What… what accident?”

The man groaned. “Five a long time earlier. 1988. The Patgram-Lalmonirhat traveler plan smashed near Burimari. Forty-five people kicked the bucket. They say a number of spirits still linger…”

Rafique steadily looked at the ticket still clenched in his hand. But the ink had obscured. The paper was fragile, matured. There was no date. No arrange number. Fair a clear scrap of yellowed paper—like something recuperated from the devastation of time.

Afterward, he checked the records himself. It was all there. The date. The names. Among the deceased—a woman in a white sari.